


The Beggar

by Brethilienne



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Disability, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lindir went through a hard time, M/M, Misunderstandings, Other, Polyamory, Rivendell, Second Age, budding romance at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-09 02:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20987411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brethilienne/pseuds/Brethilienne
Summary: Run down on his luck in a country ravaged by war and famine, a beggar ends up in Rivendell, expecting nothing more than some alms and perhaps a place to stay for a bit. What he finds, though, is acceptance, friendship, a new home, and, eventually, even love.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of transformative fiction based on the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien. No infringement is intended nor any money is being made.

The day the beggar arrived at Imladris was one of the last days of winter, with temperatures finally rising above freezing and people no longer needing to bundle up in shawls, hats, and mittens. On that day, the first load of goods shipped from Tharbad had arrived in several loaded waggons, and the resulting mayhem was the reason nobody paid attention to the ragged figure of a stranger, as everybody believed him to belong to the purveyor’s party. Later, people remembered seeing him making his halting way over the courtyard to one of the open fires where he warmed up, but only when he came over to the kitchen door, somebody took notice of him for the first time. The stranger was patiently waiting by the side until the hustle and bustle of serving dinner had died down, and humbly asked for a bit of old bread. The kitchen maid assumed he wanted it for a horse or another animal, and gave him half a loaf, but one of the attendants overhearing the exchange was quicker on the uptake. Faelion, the attendant, observed how the stooped figure nodded his thanks and turned away, furtively tearing off a chunk with his teeth and swallowing it hastily before limping away. Something was odd about the stranger, Falion thought, noticing how the bread was carefully tucked under his arm, while he moved in the opposite direction of the stables. It was not uncommon to see people, even elves, clad in old and worn clothing, or arrive here in a bad state after some mishap on the road or a long time spent wandering. But the threadbare cloak worn over an equally threadbare plain homespun robe were in a much worse state than anything Falion had ever seen, although both items of clothing were carefully patched and obviously been washed recently. Just when the stranger had rounded the corner of the Main House, Falion realised what had deemed him the oddest: he was not wearing any shoes, nor having a bag, a satchel or anything of the kind.  
  
Falion had seen enough. Whatever was going on with the stranger could not wait, he decided. Ragged people happened often enough, but without shoes, in winter! Having come of age only last year, he was doing his first full year of community service, most often as a kitchen helper, or attendant to the dining halls. As a such, he had on occasion witnessed interactions with people coming to ask for charity. Not that it happened often that people, and particularly Men, came to Imladris to ask for charity; the valley was too remote, and far out of the common roads. But after two unusually harsh winters with a cold and wet summer in between, famine affected most of Eregion, although the villages within the influence of Imladris fared better than most, as Lord Elrond had done his utmost to relieve the burden of its inhabitants. Even so, from time to time small groups of people in need arrived, who often had come a long way. Usually, these people were directed towards the dining hall and the communal quarters, where always somebody was on duty and would help the arrivals with immediate relief to their needs, whatever they might be. Most stayed for a time, gratefully accepting the offer of food and shelter, and, later, whatever was offered them to make a decent living.  
Seeing an elf in such a state, though, was for him a first, as was seeing an elf who was in such clear need of help. And Falion had no doubt that the stranger was an elf. Although he was rather stooped, the stranger was taller than the average Man, even if he might be not tall for an elf. And when he had put down his hood, revealing a haggard face with unkempt hair, the lack of a beard in a face that was too effeminate to be a Mannish youth, but likewise too masculine to be female, was a clear indication, even if the long black hair covered the ears. Falion had not seen his eyes, so he did not know if the typical shine of the Eldar was there, but he did not need such a confirmation. And it did not matter anyway; everybody who came to their valley would receive any help they could give, no matter which people they belonged to. Falion suspected that his lord would even turn an orc away if they came in a friendly way and were asking for help.  
  
He hurried after the stranger, to see how he could be of service to him.  
  
“Ai! Ai, you there,” he called to the stranger who was already half over the courtyard, moving surprisingly quickly, considering that he had an uneven gait and a bad limp.  
  
The stranger froze and turned, giving Falion a defensive look. “I did not steal, this was given to me,” he said, procuring the chunk of stale bread with the bitten-out piece missing, “I have done nothing!” His face was a strange mixture of defiance and guilt.  
  
Shocked by the assumption which must cause this reaction, Falion forced his features into a warm smile. “Oh no, no, I did not think you had!” he exclaimed. “It is just that there is a misunderstanding, and I did not want you to leave before this was cleared up.”  
  
The stranger relaxed somewhat, his haggard features losing a bit of their tautness. He was looking quite formidable, Falion thought, no matter how ragged and unkempt he was. Falion did not doubt that this elf was not in this state by choice. Not that anybody would become a ragged beggar by choice, he thought ruefully.  
  
“Misunderstanding? I do not know what you mean.”  
  
Falion nodded towards the bread in the stranger’s hand. “You came to the kitchen door to ask for food, did you not?”  
  
The stranger nodded, a slight tinge colouring his cheeks. He seemed uncomfortable with having to admit to such a truth.  
  
“People who are hungry normally come inside to the dining hall,” Falion explained, “so the kitchen maid must have thought you were asking for a bit of bread for the horses or goats. She probably was too busy to realise you must be new and not know your way around the valley yet. You are new here, are you not?”  
  
The stranger nodded. “Yes,” he said softly, “but I do not believe I am welcome in your dining hall. I am no visitor, just a beggar asking for scraps.”  
  
Falion bit his lip to not let slip the surprise - how could an Elf have come to be a beggar? Briskly, he said: “Well, in Imladris, we have no beggars or whatnot, just visitors. You are as welcome as anybody to everything we have to offer, and the first of this is food. Come with me so we can get you a proper meal, for you look like you need it!”  
  
He took the stranger gently by the arm and steered him back to the main house, choosing the side entrance which might seem less intimidating than the large front portal. The stranger did not resist, but his body language clearly signalled that he was ill at ease and probably convinced of Falion making a big mistake.  
  
While they walked, Falion explained about dining customs: “It is too late now for the evening meal, but there is a small hall where food is available at all times for those who come late or are hungry between meals. Everybody can come and eat there, or take with them what they need. The regular meals are in the morning, at noon, and in the evening. Except for special occasions, when dinner begins at a fixed time, everybody can come and go as they please, but nobody is required to attend if they prefer to eat on their own or at a different time. This is to allow everybody to live in the way they prefer.”  
  
“I see.” The stranger did not really look as if he saw, Falion thought with a little smile, but hopefully he would ‘see’ soon enough. He led him to a table, asked him to sit down, and went to the serving cabinet to fetch some food. First, he filled two mugs with sweetened tea and carried them to the table, and then returned to fill a tray with some light but nourishing food. A small dish with custard and stewed fruit, a couple of meat and vegetable pasties as well as two lentil patties with a spicy sauce, a leg of chicken, nut bread and a small dish of honey to spread on it, and a dish of grapes and plums. He added another dish with a sweet roll for himself, to keep the stranger company while he ate.  
Carrying the lot over to the table, he found the stale loaf of bread lying on the table, while the stranger sipped at the hot, sweet tea, and looked wide-eyed at the tray Falion brought. But before he could say something, Falion fetched some cutlery and napkins and joined him at the table.  
“This is for you, but you should not eat it all up at once. I brought a selection since I did not know what you like and what you eat. I can always fetch something else if this is not to your taste.”  
  
The stranger cleared his throat. “I - this looks wonderful, thank you so much. Everything is fine.”  
  
“Well, then tuck in!” Falion laughed and took off his own plate before pushing the tray in front of the stranger. The other looked over the unexpected bounty and then chose one of the pasties, clearly very hungry, but also very clearly making an effort to not gobbling up the food. Wanting to make the stranger feel less under scrutiny, Falion started some small talk.  
  
“As I understand you have just arrived at Imladris, have you not? You might have noticed the waggons with goods in the courtyard; I suppose people believed you to belong to them or you would have been received by one of the guards or the attendants, and be explained where everything is.”  
  
The stranger nodded. Swallowing a mouthful, he said: “As it happens, I came with these waggons from Tharbad. The purveyor kindly allowed me to ride on one of them, seeing as I am lame. But originally I come from Edhellond, where I was injured in battle, and have travelled last year by the coast to Lond Daer. I - I was looking for work everywhere, but it is difficult with my injuries, so I travelled on and on to look elsewhere.”  
  
His face darkened, but Falion did not need to have it spelled out how bad indeed the winter must have been for the other. He did not know what injuries the other had, but if they prevented him from working, it could not have been easy to get along. Most of the larger Elven settlements had communal quarters and dining halls, but they were open to everybody, and likely overcrowded since that first bad winter two years ago. And perhaps pride had also been a factor, at least at the beginning - the stranger exuded a dignity you did not usually find with people having come down so badly in the world, so perhaps he was not really used to being poor, and perhaps had found it difficult to accept charity?  
  
“It is good, then, that you have come now to Imladris,” Falion said with a smile. “We did not suffer any shortages, and we have ample room and food for everybody. I am sure we will also find work that suits you, but this can wait until you have rested a bit. But please, will you tell me your name? I would put it on the steward’s list right away, so you can get what you need.”  
  
The stranger blushed. “Oh, forgive me, I should have introduced myself right away. My name is Lindir, formerly of the armed forces of Edhellond.” He lifted his left shoulder, and Falion noticed only now that the left sleeve of the his robe was empty.  
  
Falion paled, but lifted his hand to his breast and tilted his head in the customary greeting. “Welcome to Imladris, then, Lindir. May a star shine on your sojourn here.” He was shocked by the discovery, for while he had noticed that Lindir had only used his right hand for eating, he had assumed that the other had some minor injury or was just weary. Knowing already that Lindir also had a bad leg, Falion now understood much better how Lindir must have come to be in this dismal state. His heart went out to the other elf: what a lot of bad luck Lindir must have had. Hopefully, his life would improve now that he had come to their valley.  
  
With another faint blush, Lindir repeated the gesture. “I thank you for the welcome and your kindness, master. Or is it lord?” He looked with some worry at Falion’s well-made clothing.  
  
Falion chuckled. “Oh, I have been remiss as well! I am Falion, and was born here. But I am no lord or master, just a young elf on communal duty rota, which I serve mostly in the kitchens right now.” Seeing that Lindir had already emptied his mug, he got up to refill it as well as his own. When he returned, he found Lindir looking sadly at the tray.  
  
“I am very sorry, but I cannot eat more, although all of this looks so good.”  
  
Indeed Lindir had only eaten one pasty and the custard. Falion bit his lip to not let slip his dismay, not because Lindir was not eating up what had been served to him, but because Falion knew only too well why Lindir could only eat so little: he had gone seriously hungry, perhaps to the point of starvation, and was no longer used to more than the smallest amounts of food.  
Aloud, he said: “Do not worry, I did not think you could! I just wanted to provide you with a selection so you could choose what you liked best. We will pack the rest for you for the night. If you have not eaten regularly lately, you must not attempt to eat too much at once anyway, but have a few bites every hour or so.”  
  
“Oh, good.”  
  
Lindir looked visibly relieved. No elf would like to waste anything the earth had given them, but somebody who had gone hungry must be even more reluctant, Falion thought. “All right, I will pack everything for you, then. If you are done here, I will also bring you to the communal quarters, as it is too late to go to the steward now, he will be likely in the Hall of Fire. It is just for one night, though; tomorrow, you will be given a room.”  
  
Lindir emptied his mug. “Oh, no, thank you, the communal quarters will do very well for me! I am in no fit state to be in any guest quarters anyway.” He tugged at his torn cloak.  
  
Falion tilted his head. “Lindir, it does not matter in what state you are, everybody here knows how fickle fate can be, and that often things happen to us we cannot control. And anyway, you will not be in that state much longer, so the point is moot.” He threw a glance at Lindir’s bare feet, dirty and calloused from going barefoot and reddened from the cold.  
“We make the distinction simply by the expected stay of our visitors and guests: everybody who intents to stay for longer than a few days is given a room, if available, although they might have to share.”  
  
Lindir looked down at his naked feet and rubbed his toes against each other. “Please, I do not want to be a bother, but I really do not want to take up accommodation which is better suited to other guests you have. At least not without the knowledge of your steward.”  
  
With a sigh, Falion gave in. “All right, if you insist. But you must take a basket of food, and an extra blanket!”  
  
Lindir acquiesced, and Falion took his tray back to the side table, where he filled one of the baskets intended for that purpose with what Lindir had not managed to eat, adding two hard-boiled eggs, another savoury pasty and a few sweet cakes as well as an earthenware flask of sweetened tea. The honey and the spicy sauce for the lentil patties were already in small earthenware containers, which he now covered with waxed cloth; this would not prevent spilling, but avoid attracting any insects. He added a spoon and another napkin, and then came back to the table where Lindir had gotten up and was waiting for him.  
  
“Can you put this in the basket, too, please?” Lindir asked, slightly embarrassed, holding out the loaf of stale bread.  
  
Falion took it, but shook his head. “Oh no, let me rather give it to the goats after all. It is not nourishing enough, but would fill up your stomach and prevent you from eating what will help you better right now. It would have gone to the animals anyway if you had not asked for it first, so it is as well.”  
  
Lindir nodded reluctantly, and Falion brought the bread back to the side table where he put it in a basket placed there for that purpose. Then, he preceded Lindir out into the corridor and into the courtyard, to show him the way to the communal quarters.  
  
0=0=0=0  
  
“I am so sorry, I should have inquired before making you trek all the way down here,” Falion said with an apologetic expression.  
  
They were standing in front of the low row of buildings where the communal sleeping quarters were located. These consisted of several rooms and small halls with six to ten beds each, and usually, there was enough room for any newcomer. But the arrival of the purveyor’s trek had coincided with three other travelling groups arriving at the same time, and now the place was overcrowded with Dwarves, Men, and a larger group from the Greenwood passing through. Not a single bed was free, and some of the guests were even sharing, or sleeping on the ground.  
  
Lindir sighed. “It does not matter. I can just as well sleep in the stables, I have done so often enough.”  
  
Falion shook his head. He felt the reputation of Imladris’s hospitality at stake, but he also did not want poor Lindir to spend another uncomfortable night. By now he felt personally responsible for the newcomer’s well-being, and would rather give him his own bed than accept Lindir’s suggestion.  
“There is no need, although I wish I had thought before acting and spared you the walk here,” he said. “We will find you a room in the House.” Without waiting for Lindir’s answer, he turned and walked back to the House, only remembering after a moment that Lindir could not walk quickly, and slowing down again to wait for him. When they were walking abreast, Falion said: “I forgot to ask: can you mount stairs?”  
  
“Yes. My knee is stiff, which is why I am limping so badly, but I can walk well and also mount stairs, even if it looks rather awkwardly.”  
  
“Good.” Falion’s mood improved a little. “We do not really need to consult the steward for a room in the Main House. It is usually done for practical reasons, but we can go as well and look for a free room, or bed, if no room is free. The guest quarters are on the second floor, and there are all kinds of single and double rooms and a few small apartments. People are given rooms of their own as long as there is vacancy, but everybody knows that another guest can be assigned to their room if there is a spare bed, or even another bed put in into a single room.”  
  
Lindir nodded, visibly relaxing at these news. He still looked unhappy about the proceedings, and Falion wondered for a moment if he really was doing the other elf a service in finding him a room. But no, not only would it be more than impolite to just send Lindir to the stables, Falion would also be heavily reprimanded if he would look after a guest so badly. He should have sent for the steward right away, Falion thought ruefully, but by now, it had grown quite late, and most likely the steward had already retired. The unfruitful detour to the communal quarters had taken up quite some time, as nobody seemed to know what was really going on, and they had also burst right into a heated dispute between the Dwarves and the group from Lórien about some incident at the hot springs By now, the corridors of the House were quiet and already darkened, with only a small light at the corners, as it was wont for the night. Faint sounds could still be heard from the direction of the Hall of Fire, but Falion knew the majority of people had retired by this hour, while only a small number of the rather nocturnal folk remained in the Hall, some of them likely until first light.  
  
After a slow climb to the second floor, Falion went down the corridor, passing a few doors until he halted in front of one. He indicated a small rack with two pegs at the side of the door. Two small wooden plates were hanging at the pegs, painted with the image of a bed on a light blue background. “Look, we are using these plates to indicate if a bed is taken or not. Each guest room has such a rack with as many plates as beds. When a bed is taken, the plate is turned towards the wall.” He took one of the plates to show to Lindir. On its backside, there was another image with somebody sleeping in the same bed as was shown on the front, on a dark blue background.  
  
“How clever,” Lindir said.  
  
Falion smiled. “Indeed, it is very easy to use and effective. No plate is turned here which shows that this room is unoccupied, so here you go.” He hung the plate back with the occupied face up, opened the door and stepped inside to light a candle on a board with the taper he was carrying. At this moment, a call for an attendant was to be heard, and Falion stepped back out into the corridor. Seeing that nobody answered the call, he said: “I am sorry, but I have corridor duty this night, so I should answer this. I am sure you will be fine. The bathing chambers are at the end of the corridor, a similar system with plates will tell you if one is occupied or not. Make yourself comfortable, and I will be back in the morning to help you getting settled here.”  
  
He vanished before Lindir could even answer.  
  
0=0=0=0  
  
With a sigh, Lindir closed the door. It would be lovely to spend the night in a proper bed in a clean room, of course. But it all sounded too good to be true - free food, free room and board, how would it even be possible to provide this for any and everybody who came to this realm? He could not escape the feeling that he did not belong here, that come morning, he would be cast out again as the beggar he was. This Falion fellow, he was very young, was he not? Young and impressive, and very clearly pitying the sorry creature fate had washed upon Imladris’ doorstep when he happened to be about.  
  
Suddenly, the exhaustion of the day was catching up with him. Lindir guessed that it was close to midnight, and the unexpected meal was making him sleepy. Add to that that there clearly was no other option apart from the stables. Perhaps he should go back to the stables after all. If he just knew if this was acceptable - perhaps they did not want somebody like him in the stables with their precious horses? Perhaps they preferred to have him under their roof so they could keep a better eye on him, and all this ado about hospitality was just a means to an end? Lindir could not help the bitterness rising up again in him.  
  
But he was here now, it was late, he was tired, and a comfortably-looking bed was beckoning to him. Why should he not just accept what he had been given, any hidden motifs and reasons be damned?  
  
By the light of the candle, he went to the bed by the window, but stopped short when he saw a bag on top of the chest at the foot of it, and a few items lying on the small bedside table. So this room was occupied after all! But had Falion not said that a wood plate would have been turned and hung outside? He clearly remembered that both plates had shown the light blue colour and the unoccupied bed. Perhaps the other occupant had forgotten to turn the plate? Well, it did not matter, the bed was taken, although its occupant was still away. Perhaps one of the other rooms would be free? Lindir pondered for a moment if he should go out and look for himself, but then he decided against it. He was dead tired by now, and the second bed was unoccupied, as a quick investigation with the candle proved. No luggage, no items lying around, and the bed perfectly made up with fresh linen. Had not Falion said that people would be assigned to the second bed if the others were taken? And anyway, it was perhaps only for the night, tomorrow he would go to the steward and explain everything, or perhaps just leave again and go back to Tharbad with the waggons. Everything was so difficult. He felt tears running down his cheeks and tried to keep himself together.  
_By the pits of Thangorodrim, what is wrong with me? Am I undone just by one friendly soul talking kindly to me, and offering me what I crave most, that I am breaking down now? Get a grip, Lindir, you have been through so much worse._  
  
Drying his face with his sleeve, he sat down on the bed. The mattress was soft and promised so much comfort… no, he was not going anywhere else tonight. Awkwardly, he shrugged out of his cloak and his robe, not wanting to soil the clean bedclothes with them. He had washed his things as often as possible, but in winter this was rarely enough, as he had no place to dry them; let alone a change of clothing to wear for the time. There had never been enough money for a washer woman, so he had accepted the increasing grubbiness of his outer clothes as one of the unavoidable consequences of his new way of life.  
At least his underthings were reasonably clean, for washing these had been easier - going a day without until it was dry again was uncomfortable, but possible, and he simply could not bear anything else.  
Looking at his bare feet, though, he cringed. He would have much preferred to wash first, but it could not be helped.  
  
His stomach growled, and Lindir remembered the basket of food. Falion had put it on the table at the window, and Lindir got back up to bring it over to the bed. Finding a bed for him had taken so long that he was hungry again, so he checked the various wraps and containers and chose the leg of chicken and a small piece of nut bread. The scent of the chicken leg had enticed him all the time already, and he had regretted it so much to be unable to eat it earlier. With a blissful sigh, he bit into the tender, aromatic flesh, savouring every bite while once again fighting the urge to gobble it all down. Even if all that running around - or, for him, limping around - had served for nothing, and all he would get out of this episode was this food, it was fully worth every effort. Not only being able to sate his hunger, and to know where the next meal and the next meal after that would come from was an unexpected boon. But also having a selection of such delicious food, and a choice in the first place, was a wonderful treat._ I am really falling apart,_ Lindir thought._ I am crying over the kindness of a young, overeager attendant, who is probably doing it just to earn merit points with his principal, for I cannot believe somebody like Falion would be so kind to such a come-down beggar as I am. And just a moment later my fëa sings over the scent and taste of a roasted chicken leg… _  
  
Having eaten a full meal - or what went for a full meal for him these days - twice in such a short time made him really drowsy, so he wiped his fingers as best as he could, covered the basket again, and finally crawled under the soft, warm, covers and blew out the candle. He was asleep before the wick had fully extinguished.  
  
0=0=0=0


	2. Two

“You there! What’d you think you’re doing here? Manwë’s arse, who’s allowed to you break into my room and spread yourself out like this?”  
  
Lindir woke with a start, heart pounding. An enraged Man towered over him, shaking his fist and a furious expression on the thickly bearded face. Lindir did not understand everything that was shouted at him; his Westron was decent enough, but failed him, woken from a deep slumber. He struggled to sit up and to make sense of what was happening. The furious man was obviously the first occupant of the room, and also very obviously took issue with sharing it. But Lindir was allowed to be here, was he not?  
  
“Get out, get out, you misbegotten son of an Orc! This is my room! Who allowed you to intrude here and just do as you please? Outrage!”  
  
The yelling continued, and Lindir shrank back as the other closed in on him, drawing the blankets up to his chin with his good hand. He tried to say something, but the other did not even take breath in the cursing and yelling, and Lindir did not know if he would find the right words in Westron anyway. Now the Man yanked the blanket away, and an ugly sneer distorted his face at the sight of Lindir’s missing arm.  
  
“A cripple, too! Out, out with you, I want no cripple in my room. I bet you’re stealing, too, I’ll have you beaten for this! Out, I say, out with you!”  
  
Lindir, at first paralysed with fright, gasped when the Man now started to pull at his sleeve to get him off the bed, and finally managed to move. He scrambled off the bed, only wanting to flee this cursing menace.  
  
So this was it, then, just as he had feared, all the good was already coming to an end. He was not really surprised, but the ferocity of the ejection was all the more painful for the kindness that had been shown to him earlier. Or pity, rather; the young attendant must have acted out of pity, nothing more. He deserved nothing more than pity, and it had been foolish to believe otherwise, if just for a short while…  
  
When he had finally managed to get up, he struggled to get hold of the precious basket as well as his clothes. He would doubtlessly find himself cast out in no time, and it would be foolish to waste even the tiniest morsel, but the Man had already grabbed his cloak and robes, opened the door, and thrown everything out into the corridor. Lindir hurried after this things, but was pushed by the Man with such force that he first stumbled and then fell down, unable to find his footing again with his stiff knee, nor to catch himself with only one arm, and clutching the basket still. He landed heavily on his left side, jarring his hip and shoulder badly and crying out with pain when his stump was squashed against the floor and his cheekbone made forceful contact with the floor as well.  
  
At the edge of his vision, Lindir saw several feet appearing, while curious and annoyed whispers seemed to come from everywhere and the furious Man continued to yell in Westron. The contents of the basket had spilled, lying under and around him, and he lay there, dirty as he was, in nothing but a pair of very threadbare drawers and an equally threadbare camisole which had more holes than cloth, while the pungent odour of some sauce was slowly permeating the air.  
  
Lindir closed his eyes, just wanting to vanish into the ground, or, better even, die.  
  
0=0=0=0  
  
“What is going on here? It is in the middle of the night, all you are insane?”  
  
A deep voice, speaking with authority, came down the corridor and halted just a step away. Lindir held his breath, hoping whatever was going to happen now would be quick, and pass with a minimum of embarrassment for him. He opened his eyes again quickly when a gentle hand was laid on his shoulder, and found a thick, blond, braid appearing in his line of vision.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
Before Lindir could answer, though, the furious Man started to rant again, and was cut short by a commanding “quiet!” in Westron. This finally shut the Man up, and Lindir sent a small, thankful prayer to the stars.  
  
The owner of the blond braid got down on one knee and asked again if Lindir was all right, his voice surprisingly gentle for somebody who had all but shouted at the furious Man just a moment ago.  
  
“Yes.” Lindir struggled up on his elbow and found a strong hand helping him to first turn onto his side and then sit. “I am fine, I just stumbled and fell,” he said, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder and stump and the burning sensation at his cheek. The pungent smell had intensified as he turned, and he blushed when he noticed his thigh being smeared with the sauce, looking like something quite different.  
  
“Good.” The blond got up again and looked around. “Everybody who is not involved in this, go back to your rooms, please.” He looked sternly at the assembled spectators until one by one, they turned and went back, some with a last glance at the bedraggled Lindir, and only the furious Man and a young elf remained. The young elf was dressed similarly as Falion, and now came forward, wringing his hands.  
  
“I am so sorry, but I have fallen asleep and when I arrived, everybody was talking across each other and I could not get through at first.”  
  
The blond frowned at the young elf. “Falling asleep on hall duty is no offence, Geldir, but you should be able to wake easier when called upon, or something happens. But be that as it may, I do not think it would have made much of a difference.” He glared at he furious Man, who was shrinking back a bit, although he clearly still was very furious. At least he now held his tongue.  
  
“Now, I want an explanation about this racket at such an ungodly hour. You, are you able to tell me what has happened?”  
  
The blond elf pointed at Lindir, who had scrambled up in the meantime and now stood, clutching his clothes to him after he had made sure that his nose was not bleeding. Lindir nodded and attempted, not very successfully, to cover himself with the clothes in his hand. “I will try to, although I am not sure I understand myself what has happened.”  
  
He had been talking in Sindarin, like the blond elf, and the furious Man now demanded: “What’s he saying? Can’t you all speak in a sensible tongue?”  
  
The blond elf glowered at him until he was silent again, but asked Lindir: “Can you explain in Westron, for the sake of this - person?”  
  
“I will try, my lord, but I fear my Westron is not very good.”  
  
“I can translate, if you like,” Geldir offered.  
The young attendant had been busy picking up the discarded food and putting back into the basket what was salvageable, although most was quite damaged by now, much to Lindir’s regret. Not that this would prevent him from eating it, of course.  
  
“Thank you, that would be most kind,” Lindir answered, and waited until the attendant had informed the Man that he would translate the conversation.  
  
“All right,” the blond now said, “but we will go into your room, so we will not disturb the other residents more than necessary. You can deal with this later,” he added to the attendant who had tried to wipe up the spilled mess with a napkin.  
  
The furious Man bristled when he was ushered back into the room, together with Lindir, whom he seemed to regard as his enemy, but the blond glowered again at him and pushed him none too gently down onto a chair by the table, and closed the door as soon as everybody was inside. Then, the blond planted himself in the middle of the room with crossed arms. “Begin!” he demanded.  
  
Lindir swallowed. At least there was no longer an audience, but his level of embarrassment and shame could not possibly rise any higher. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the increasing throbbing in his shoulder and arm stump, and the sticky mass on his thigh.  
  
“I arrived only this afternoon, and encountered one of your attendants at the kitchens. He explained to me that I would get a bed, like every new arrival, and brought me to the communal quarters. But they were already full, and as it was rather late, he brought me here and said this room was unoccupied and I could sleep here. He had to leave then, and when I entered I saw one bed occupied, but the other free, so I took the free bed and went to sleep. Sometime later, I was woken by this man who was shouting at me to get out, and that I had no right to be here, and that I was stealing from him. I am very sorry that I misunderstood the rules and occupied a bed I am not allowed to, but I did not know that I was doing something wrong. I did not steal anything, the basket was given to me by the attendant, and he said it was for me.”  
Lindir bit his lip, as he had a hard time keeping his voice calm under the piercing scrutiny of the blond elf and the angry glowering of the furious Man.  
  
“Well, this sounds reasonable enough,” the blond elf said after the attendant had translated everything. Turning to Lindir, he added: “You did nothing wrong as far as I can tell. No matter if there are beds available in the communal quarters or not, these rooms are for visitors who plan to stay longer, and if there are not enough rooms, they have to share. It would have been better to go to the steward for a room, as he usually knows best how to assign a shared room, but this is not a requirement.”  
  
Lindir swallowed again. “Falion - the attendant - said it was too late to bother the steward, and that it was all right. I did not know that this was wrong.”  
  
The blond elf shook his head slightly. “It was not wrong, just unfortunate, but that is not your fault either.” He waited again until Geldir had translated everything, and then addressed the Man in Westron.  
“You have been assigned to this room by the steward, have you not?”  
  
The Man nodded, and the elf continued: “So you have been told that somebody else might be assigned to this room?”  
  
The Man nodded again.  
  
Geldir started to translate, but Lindir indicated that he did not need a translation; this was easy enough to understand.  
  
“So can you please explain to me why you were behaving so abominably? You are a guest here, too, and you have no affair in casting out another guest, let alone attack him in such a shameful manner, or accuse him of things he had not done.”  
  
“But he did steal my room! Just came in without asking, bold as brass taking my bed and sleeping there as if nothing was wrong!” The Man had started to yell again, and only toned down his voice when he met the glare of the blond elf.  
  
“Steal your room? How could he do that? Your room has two beds, and only one was taken, am I understanding that right?” He looked at Lindir.  
  
Lindir nodded. “The attendant showed me the plates outside. They were both hanging with the unoccupied side up, and he did turn one of them for me. I remember I noticed the difference in colour of the plates. But when I went inside I saw that one bed was taken, so I thought that perhaps a mistake had happened. I looked carefully if the other bed was free before using it. There were no items lying anywhere on it or the bedside table, and the sheets were pristine, so I felt it safe to use it. Falion had been called away, and it was already very late, so I did not want to bother anybody on my behalf with this, as I believed to be in the right.” He hunched his shoulders defiantly.  
  
At a glance of the blond elf, Geldir went outside to check the room plates. When he came back, he said: “Only one plate is hanging face down, so it looks as none was turned before. Furthermore, the second plate is a bit dusty. I do not think it has been touched in the last days.”  
  
The blond elf looked at the Man with raised eyebrows. “It looks as if our newcomer here was indeed not wrong in coming into this room and taking the free bed. It also looks as if this room has not been marked as being occupied in the first place. What do you have to say to this?”  
  
The Man threw a belligerent glance at Lindir. “I was here first, this is my room!”  
  
“This is not how this works here, good fellow. You have both come to this realm as guests, both with equal rights. We are offering our hospitality freely to everybody who comes here, but it goes without saying that you have to follow our rules, and the way we are accommodating our guests. Nobody has the right to exclusive quarters here, even though most of the times there is enough room so nobody has to share. Do you understand this?”  
  
The Man nodded with visible reluctance.  
  
“There is something else, though,” the blond elf continued. “We do not ask for compensation for our hospitality, or demand specific rules, as we believe that everybody should be as free here as it is possible. But that does not mean that the most basic rules of communal life do not apply, which means behaving with respect and politeness towards each other, even if you are having strife with another. We expect you to bring any problems or concerns you are having to the steward, or me, or somebody else in a position of authority. Meting out repercussions yourself is unacceptable, as is treating a fellow guest or resident - well, anybody, really - with disrespect and aggression in the way you did. With your actions, you have not only done a great dishonour to your host, the Lord of Imladris and his people, you have also forfeit your right to our hospitality. I hereby revoke your claim to any accommodation within the House. By tomorrow morning, you will vacate this room with all your belongings, and be assigned a bed in the communal quarters.”  
  
Geldir had become increasingly worried at this speech, and now could no longer restrain himself.  
“But Lord Glorfindel! There is no room in the communal quarters, they are already overcrowded!”  
  
“We will make room,” Glorfindel said grimly. “There will be a corner for another pallet, I am sure, and if not, we will bring somebody from the communal quarters here. I will not tolerate such a behaviour without due consequences.”  
  
So this was the mighty lord Glorfindel! Lindir felt suddenly faint. All of this had grown increasingly embarrassing, and it had already been bad enough that so many people had seen him in such a shameful state in the corridor. It had been clear that the blond elf was somebody of authority. But to find that he was the famous Balrog slayer and Captain of Imladris, renowned for his battle prowess as well as his nobility, and for being the closest friend and confidant of the Lord of Imladris himself - it could not possibly get any worse, could it now? How he wished now that he had not followed Falion’s invitation, but politely declined any offer and stayed in the stables after all. Or better yet, not come here in the first place… Distracted, Lindir had missed a part of the conversation, but was jarred painfully back into the present with the next words of the furious Man.  
  
“But he’s just a dirty cripple! Doubtless also a beggar. What do you care for him? What is shameful that you give him more attention than me, who is a worthy citizen of Esgaroth, that you believe him over me! I am on an important mission to your lord, and I demand that you treat me accordingly!”  
  
Lindir wanted to sink into the ground. Understanding everything the Man had said, he bit his lip to keep even more shameful tears from escaping, and drew up his cloak in an attempt to hide behind it even better. But the cloth escaped his grip and fell down, without him being able to do something about it. Again he stood in his none-too clean, ragged, underthings, with nothing to hide his stump and his scars. He drew in a sharp breath which he just could avoid to turn into a sob.  
  
Glorfindel turned quickly around at this, looking at Lindir with a piercing glance. With two steps, he was at Lindir’s side, and much to his surprise, Glorfindel picked up his cloak, shook it out, and draped it around Lindir’s shoulders, while drawing out a chair for him with his foot at the same time.  
  
“Forgive me, I did not think,” he said softly in Sindarin, gently pushing him towards the chair. Then, turning back to the Man, his whole demeanour changed again.  
  
“You are a disgrace to your people,” Glorfindel said with barely controlled fury. “I will not grace your abysmal behaviour with an answer. Be grateful that we are too polite to throw you out at once, which is what you would deserve. If you have business with the Lord Elrond, you can conclude this tomorrow, but you will be expected to leave this realm again at the earliest opportunity. Until then, you will be put under close scrutiny, and denied any further entry to this realm. Geldir, fetch a guard, please. This man is confined to this room until the morrow, when he will be guided to the communal quarters. I want him under observation for the reminder of his stay.”  
  
Turning back again to Lindir, Glorfindel said: “Forgive me for exposing you even longer to this unwelcome presence. But I would wait here for the guard to arrive, to instruct them myself, and neither want you to have to wait for me on the corridor. Geldir should not be long, though.”  
  
The Man had been finally shocked into silence, although he seemed repeatedly to want to say something, but was held in check each time by Glorfindel’s stern glare.  
  
Lindir cleared his throat, feeling almost dizzy about the way things were turning out. “I am sorry for causing such a disturbance, lord,” he said in Sindarin. He felt secure talking in their own language, as the Man had given no sign so far of understanding what had been said in it.  
“I fear the man is right, though, no matter the way he brought this up: I am a cripple, and I fear I am also a beggar. I am very much afraid that you defended somebody not worthy of your consideration.”  
He blushed as he said this, remembering wistfully his erstwhile station and life. But that was gone, and here and now, what he had said was true.  
  
Glorfindel grimaced. “That is neither here nor there. It does not matter what and who you are, you are a guest here, and you are due the common politeness and consideration like everybody else. You would be treated thusly even if you were our enemy, but came here with peaceful intentions. But such an behaviour as this Man shows is unacceptable, and is treated with the due consequence, as you see it happen just now. But there is Geldir again, with the guard. Come, I will find you another room for the night, as little as there is left.”  
  
0=0=0=0=0  
  
Not long thereafter, Lindir found himself in a warm and cosy sitting room in the family wing on the first floor, somewhat overwhelmed of the most recent happenings. The furious Man, who went by the name of Torfrid, was now under guard in his room, while young Geldir had been sent to find another free guest room, and Lindir had been invited to wait for Geldir’s investigation in lord Glorfindel’s quarters. He had been shown to a luxurious private bathing chamber so he could clean up and dress again, and been given a cup of hot spice tea liberally laced with honey ‘to warm up and soothe his nerves’. His precious basket was standing once again at his side, lined with a fresh napkin and containing whatever could be salvaged from the content. Lindir was grateful that this included even some of the broken pasties and cakes; they had all been well-wrapped and were still good to eat, and he would have regretted had they been thrown away just because they no longer were in perfect condition. He appreciated such handling of foodstuff, particularly in view of the obvious wealth and fecundity of Imladris’ - he knew well enough that it was more common to throw away food that was no longer pristine or perfectly fresh; he had lived off such scraps often enough, and quite often he had to get them from the garbage, as they were not even set out for the paupers. _Maybe you need to experience hardship for yourself to not waste unnecessary_, he thought.  
  
Lindir had just finished his tea when Geldir returned with a regretful mien.  
“I am so sorry, but there are no free rooms anywhere, not even in the cottages, except in two of the upstairs rooms - we have some rooms for four or six people one floor up,” he explained to Lindir. “But only one free bed in each, and I do not know who resides there.”  
  
Glorfindel shook his head. “This would not do. It is so late already - or early, depending on your viewpoint - that I do not want to bother yet anybody else and rob even more people of their well-deserved sleep. Would you mind terribly staying here for the night, Lindir? I have to get up early anyway so the sofa will do very well for me, and my bed is very comfortable. Tomorrow, we will sort out a proper room for you, and everything else.”  
  
Lindir looked helplessly from Glorfindel to Geldir. What should he do now? He could not possibly impose on the lord in this way, although Glorfindel’s reasoning was sound, and staying here would doubtlessly be the least disruptive to anybody involved. At least Geldir did not seem to be shocked by the suggestion, or find it extraordinary. His exhaustion won, the prospect of just lying down again and sleep was so very tempting.  
“If you are sure this is not too much of an imposition,” he said with some hesitation.  
  
Glorfindel visibly brightened and rubbed his hands. “Good. Off with you, then, Geldir, but do not forget to check if anybody was wanting your services in the meantime. Do you want to take a bath, Lindir, or save that for tomorrow? It is horribly late, so I understand fully if you just want to go back to bed.”  
  
While he spoke, he had taken fresh sheets out of a trunk and was making the bed with quick efficiency.  
  
Lindir noticed that he folded the used sheets and put them on top of the same chest, obviously to use them again later, another sign of mindfulness he quite liked.  
“I would prefer to just go to bed,” he admitted. He felt bone-weary, his limbs like lead; he had been exhausted already when he arrived at Imladris, and the evening had not exactly been restful.  
  
“As I said, I fully understand,” Glorfindel repeated with a warm smile. “Here, I am done. I will be back in a moment.”  
  
With these words, Glorfindel went into the bathroom, and Lindir got up and limped over to the bed. He was so tired, and the bed with its thick duvet looked even more comfortable than the one in the guest room, and there was even a nightshirt for him!  
  
With a small sob, he sank down onto the mattress, caressing the soft coverlet and sending a silent prayer to the Valar, for the final and most unexpected change of his fate. He shrugged awkwardly out of his clothes, this time including his underthings, and put on the nightshirt, soft from frequent washing, and rather long. But what a treat, to wear something freshly laundered, and now get into a freshly-made bed again! He wished he had bathed, after all, feeling bad about soiling the sheets with his dirty feet and unwashed hair, but as he now slipped under the coverlet, he found that he could no longer be bothered, and then he just drifted off.  
  
0=0=0=0


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to S. for helping with some continuitiy issues!

“Good morning, I suppose.”

Lindir woke with a start, staring at the slender, dark-haired elf standing in front of his bed. It was light outside, with the faint noises of morning activity coming through the open windows, and the room was empty except for the stranger.  
“What - how - who are you?” he blurted, his heart thumping painfully.

The dark-haired elf raised an eyebrow. “This is what I would like to know of you,” he said dryly. “You are sleeping in my bed, after all. I am Erestor, and these are my rooms.”

Lindir scrambled into a sitting position, keeping the coverlet pressed to his chest. He felt so sick with apprehension that he almost forgot about the stiffness and aches from yesternight’s misadventures.

“I - I am so very sorry, I did not know this is your bed. He - the lord Glorfindel - said I could sleep here, since there were no free rooms.”

The raised eyebrow was joined by the second one.  
“Did he now? This is not such a great surprise, of course, considering that we are talking about Glorfindel. But that still leaves the question why Glorfindel would install you here.”

Lindir blushed deeply.  
“It is not as it looks I assure you! I - I arrived only yesterday, - and was given a room. But there was a misunderstanding, the room had already been taken, although the occupant arrived only much later, when I was already sleeping. He took offence to me being there, and - well, there was a scene, and he threw me out, and then the lord Glorfindel arrived and took charge.”

The corners of Erestor’s mouth twitched, although his face remained stern. “Ah, so this was the racket from upstairs we heard during the night! I was wondering if I would learn about it eventually.”

The elf had an air of authority and a quiet dignity about him. Lindir could not tell if he was angry or merely annoyed, but felt somewhat reassured by the other’s calm manner - at least it did not look like he was facing a repetition of last night’s event, even if he was in the wrong place again and about to be evicted.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I would not have accepted to sleep in that other bed had I known the original occupant would object to sharing the room. He is not the first to take offence of sharing with a cripple, or a beggar.”  
The coverlet had slid down while Lindir talked, and he now lifted his left shoulder, emphasizing his empty sleeve.

Erestor’s features became unreadable at this sight.  
“A beggar?”

Lindir blushed again. “It is what I am. I was invalided out after battle, and have been unable to find any paid occupation anywhere. I stayed in Lond Daer over the winter and nearly starved with all the shortages and lack of goods, and came here when I heard that Imladris has fared better through the famine.”

“Well, you chose right, - I still do not know your name,” Erestor said, jovially.

“Lindir. Forgive me.”

“- Lindir.” Erestor made a dismissive gesture.  
“Please do not worry any longer. Glorfindel is my partner, and these are his rooms as well as mine, and likewise the bed is ours. He knew I would not return in the night, so he was free to offer it to you if there was a shortage of accommodation. I know well that Imladris is overflowing at the moment, although I was not aware we were short of beds. But that is neither here nor there. I need to ask your forgiveness, though: I believed you were part of a practical joke Glorfindel was playing on me, and I could not resist to roast you a bit. He likes to do that sometimes, but I have no doubt that nothing untoward has happened between the two of you.”

Erestor winked, and Lindir felt all tension leaving him. He sighed with relief.

“Furthermore,” Erestor continued, “you have come to the right place. I am sure we will find a suitable occupation for you, but that does not even matter, as here in Imladris, there are no beggars. Everybody is given what they need, and you can count on having food and shelter from now on, and will be provided with whatever else you may need, without any requirements.”

Lindir swallowed and looked inquiringly at the other. “So this is really true? Falion - the young man who brought me inside and found me the first bed - said so already, but it sounds too good to be true.”

“It is true. Imladris has always been lucky and can provide food and other goods beyond the needs of our own people. It is the way of our lord to welcome everybody with open arms, and particularly those in need, and to share what we have.”

Lindir closed his eyes in gratitude. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I had no hope left, not even of reaching the Grey Havens, or for a place to fade in peace.”

“Well, I am glad, then,” Erestor answered briskly. “Why do we not start with a hearty breakfast for you, for I am sure you must be hungry?”

Once again Lindir blushed as he noticed Erestor’s glance at his precious basket. He started to scoot towards the edge of the bed. “I am, but I have enough left from yesterday,” he said. “I also imagine you came here to rest yourself, if you have been up all night, and want your bed back.”

Erestor chuckled. “Oh no, not to rest. I am needed in my office soon, and there is no hurry about the bed, although we will find you another one for tonight. But I could do with a good breakfast myself, so why do you not join me? Your provisions will keep, I am sure, and you look as if you could do with a few snacks between meals!”  
He smiled warmly, and Lindir found his resistance, born out of the desire not to impose any further, melting.

“All right,” Lindir said with a little smile of his own, “but I need to wash first. It was too late yesterday, and I am really dirty.”

“Good. Why do you not have a nice bath, then, while I take care of breakfast? The bathing chamber is over there, feel free to use anything you need. You can put on the red house-robe afterwards; it is mine and should fit you well enough, considering you are wearing one of my night-shirts.”

Erestor winked, setting Lindir’s renewed worry at ease. He turned and went out again before Lindir was out of the bed, and only now Lindir noticed that Erestor was walking with a noticeable limp. So this was perhaps why Erestor had looked at him so oddly when he had noticed his stump, Lindir thought. He had taken the look for pity first.

He wondered, too, if it would really be possible to find any employment for him, or at least an honest occupation. Glorfindel might have been a bit overenthusiastic, as this seemed to be the warrior’s way, while this Erestor fellow did only know about his missing arm, not that Lindir was also lame. But if it was really true that he could live and eat here for free - a fact Lindir still found hard to believe, even though he had no reason to doubt the words of all these kind elves - then his most urgent problem was solved. And - he might find tasks even he could do to contribute to the community, even if would not be enough to sustain him anywhere else.

Making his way over to the bathing chamber, Lindir felt a new ease coming over him. Should it really finally be over, this - dismal life of trying to survive, without any hope for the future? Back then, after his wounding, when he had realised how badly he was impaired by his injuries, Lindir had lost heart. Between his lame leg and his missing arm, it had been impossible to find any occupation which would earn him a living, nor was he capable of hunting for his needs. As no improvement of his physical state could be expected, he felt tied down to his broken hröa, and had finally decided to try to reach Mithlond, and the Undying Lands. Fading would have been the other option, but not one which appealed to him, as starvation would doubtlessly hasten the process, and he had already suffered hunger so often that this was a dreadful prospect. Of course, he did not even know if the lord Círdan would allow one such as he on board of one of his ships, since Lindir had nothing to pay for a passage, or to offer as gifts. But he would have at least tried. Now, though …

While his mind ran free, Lindir used the very ingenious garderobe with that curious and practical water flush for afterwards, and, after finding out how to operate the levers for the water supply, filled the bathtub with another unexpected luxury, hot water. At first, he wondered how he should get into the tub with the bothersome stiff knee, but it was easy when he noticed that what looked like an ornamental part of the tub was really a sturdy pole with a convenient handle. It had been carved to look decorative, but its main purpose was clearly practical. There was another handle on the far side of the tub, and Lindir soon slid into the hot water with a deep feeling of bliss, ignoring the stinging of the grazed skin at his shoulder and face from last night’s fall.

He wondered whether the handles had been made for Erestor especially. That limp could have all kinds of causes, but Lindir knew well enough that being able to walk reasonably well did not mean that everything else was easy, or even possible. On the other hand, this Erestor fellow must be somebody of importance, judging not only by the fact that he was the mighty lord Glorfindel’s partner and living in such beautiful quarters, but also by the undeniable authority he exuded. But certainly, nobody with a permanent impairment would be holding a position of authority, so it must be a recent injury, not yet healed, or something similar. The handles were perhaps just for convenience.

After relaxing for a bit, Lindir submerged fully to wet his hair; thanks to the handle he did not worry about having troubles with resurfacing. On a convenient ledger stood some bottles with bathing salts and soaps, but to his dismay Lindir found that he could not open the bottles, not with his hand already wet. There was also a bar of soap which he used to lather his hair and body. It smelled of violets, but that could not be helped, although Lindir wondered who of the two occupants of this room was partial to the scent of violets for their body toilette. At least it cleansed well - his hair and feet in particular showed that they had not seen more than a quick wash with cold water for the longest time, or a dip in the river when the weather allowed. Expenses like soap, let alone visiting a bathing-house, had not been within his budget since he left the hospital.  
But even now, with all the hot water he wanted, good soap, and a sturdy wash-cloth, he did not manage to get completely clean, not with the dirt and grime of a whole winter spent on the roads and without proper care. He longed to be able to scrub and wash to his heart’s content, and to get to his feet with a pumice stone, where the dirt had eaten in the skin from walking barefoot after his boots had fallen apart. He also longed to have his hair cut and carefully combed out, but perhaps he could find somebody here who was not above performing this service for him, as the badly-knotted hair was beyond his own, one-armed, abilities. But hair and feet notwithstanding he was now as fresh and clean as possible, smelling faintly of violets, and no longer carrying the unpleasant scent of an unwashed traveller and the grime of the road.

Getting out of the tub was a bit more difficult, mainly because his bruised shoulder had started to hurt quite badly now, making him reluctant to move his upper body. When he had clambered out and managed to wrap a towel around his wet hair, Lindir took stock of his newest injuries.  
The stump of his arm was still swollen and tender, and large, blackish-blue bruises covered most of it as well as his shoulder. He bruised easily, but this was worse than he had expected. He must be in a worse shape than he assumed, Lindir thought ruefully, and stepped closer to the mirror above the sink to inspect his face. At least the abrasions on his nose, and forehead were already healing, but they would be visible for a couple of days yet. He sighed. It could not be helped, and it was not as if the rest of his body was anything to look at, so what did it matter.

Towelling himself dry with fumbling movements, made more awkward by pain and stiffness, he drew a face when he realised that he would need to dress in his dirty clothes again, until he remembered Erestor’s offer. The house-robe in question hung from a peg near the door, and Lindir slipped it on gratefully. It closed with clasps he needed a moment to figure out, but found that they were very easy to operate with one hand, and then snuggled into the soft fabric, an unexpected luxury after the long months of rough cloth and home-spun. Hopefully his own things could be washed soon, though, so he need not impose on borrowed things for longer than necessary.

But back in the bedchamber, he found a small pile of clothing on the bed, as well as a pair of old but well-kept shoes of the kind typically worn indoors. The clothes were worn but clean and in good condition, and, finding underthings as well as socks in addition to simple everyday clothes, Lindir took off the robe again to dress properly. He was sorry to forego with the soft robe so quickly, but he was already making enough use of Erestor’s things, so he would rather wear what looked like older or second-best things. It was not seemly to parade around in the kind man’s own regular things any longer than necessary, after all!

Lindir was still sitting on the bed, working at his hair with the comb he had found with the clothing, when Erestor returned, followed by a couple of attendants carrying a large tray and a teapot, and a moment later the table at the window was laid with an astonishing number of dishes.

“Ah, I see you have found what I have put out for you,” Erestor said with a smile. “I hope you do not mind wearing some of my hand-me-downs. But we have a similar build, and I did not have time to send somebody to the clothes store. You can keep these.”

“No, no, it is fine, thank you so much,” Lindir responded. “I am very grateful, for I was loath to dress in my dirty things, and they are all I have.”

Erestor nodded. “I imagined as much. Your own clothes will be washed and mended in the laundry. But an attendant will bring you to the clothes store later. Most things there are used, like what I gave you, but they are free to take for everybody, and you can get there what else you might need. Do you need aught else right away?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then let us eat, I confess I am quite hungry by now.”

Giving up the attempt to tidy his hair, Lindir obediently got up and came to the table, well aware that Erestor was now also seeing his limp. When they were both seated, Erestor poured him some tea and uncovered the bowls and platters.

“Would you like to start with the porridge? It is best when fresh, and there is fresh fruit and cream to go with it.”

“Yes, please, it smells delicious.” Lindir noted gratefully that the bowl Erestor set before him contained only a small helping, with fruit already cut up in bit-sized pieces. He would still not be able to eat much, and there were so many delicious dishes that he hoped for a bit of variety.

After Erestor had helped himself and eaten a few spoonfuls, he observed: “You seem to have encountered quite some misfortune.”

Lindir sighed. “Indeed. I was wounded in battle, and have been in the healer’s care for a long time. When I was released, I had nowhere to go, and, between my arm and my leg, found myself incapable of earning a livelihood. I used to be left-handed and cannot write any longer, so even occupations were denied to me where my physical limitations would not have been as much of a hindrance. I tried everything possible, no matter how humble, but the patience of most people with one so slow and clumsy only goes so far, and I ended up being dependent on the generosity of others, and begging for alms.”

“I am sorry to hear about your troubles,” Erestor said, looking at him with so much understanding and sympathy that Lindir felt surprisingly comforted. Then he remembered Erestor’s own handicap and wondered if the other might have had similar experiences. He wanted to ask, but was too shy in the end, not knowing if Erestor would perceive this as rude.

Erestor poured them more tea, and, after asking what Lindir wanted next, served him some omelette and a slice of buttered nut-bread with honey.  
“At least last night’s unpleasant experience brought you to Glorfindel’s attention, and that will not be to your disadvantage.”

Lindir blushed. “I am very glad that he came, he was so kind to me,” he said softly.

“He is one of the kindest people I know. And he has this fondness for lame ducks, too.”

“Lame ducks?”

Erestor chuckled. “He always brings home stray and often injured animals, and cares for them with great passion. Not always only animals, at that.”

Lindir bit his lip. So that was the reason why Glorfindel had taken such good care of him! It was an embarrassing realisation, but he could not deny that he must inspire pity in those who saw him and had a kind heart.

“Forgive me if my words hurt you.”

Lindir shrugged. “It is the truth. I may not like it, but neither can I deny it nor am I in a position to refuse anything that is offered to me. My pride was one of the first things I had to let go.”

“I understand that better than you can imagine,” Erestor said with a wistful smile.

“You do?” Lindir was surprised.

“Yes, I was also one of Glorfindel’s lame ducks.”

“You? Because of your limp?”

“You know about my leg?” Erestor raised one eyebrow in surprise.

Lindir shook his head. “No, I just noticed your limp, but assumed it must be an older injury, since you seem well used to it and walk with elegance even so. And I saw the handles in the bathroom and figured they might have been installed for your use.”

Erestor tilted his head in acquiescence. “You are an astute observer. Indeed, like you, I have a handicap, and when I came here, my situation was not so different from yours. I was still capable of work, as it is easier to find an occupation with a leg missing than an arm; but I had been just barely surviving, and was rather miserable. I came to Imladris to improve my situation, although at that point I had little hope left for any positive changes. This turned out to be the best decision I have ever made, though, as my life turned completely around, thanks to the kindness and generosity of the Lord of the Valley and his people.”

Lindir’s eyes opened wide with surprise at this news. Erestor was missing a leg? Lindir had assumed a bad leg due to an old injury, a badly-healed break or something of this kind. But such a grave injury?

“Did I shock you?” Erestor asked with a little smile.

“No. Forgive me, I fear I was staring, but I was just very surprised. You walk so well, I would never have guessed your handicap would be so severe.”

“I was lucky to get a replacement that serves me well,” Erestor explained, “Imladris is blessed with many ingenious craftsmen. But this was only after several years, and even today I cannot always wear it. When I came here, I was walking on crutches, - and also rather sick. I could not do very much back then, but it did not matter: they took me in with open arms and gave me everything I needed, without any questions asked. When Lord Elrond found out about my health problems, he even insisted to heal me first, although this meant I could not work for quite some time. But in the end it was all for the best, because I ended up with a healthy, pain-free body, and strong enough to do any work I was still capable of. I was also given the opportunity to learn what I desired, and to improve my abilities, and so eventually I became able to live out my talents to the fullest, and to contribute my share of work to the running of this realm. I have a good life now, with everything I could wish for, and have stopped minding my disability a long time ago. It does not hinder me from doing what I desire and being the man I want to be.”

Lindir swallowed. “I am happy to hear everything turned out for you so well,” he said, finding it hard to not let show the envy he was suddenly feeling, and the bitter disappointment about his own, sad and dismal, life.

Erestor was looking at him attentively and now reached over the table for his good hand.  
“I am sure it will not be different for you, Lindir. Also, I am grateful that today, I can take part in helping somebody else. May I be the first to offer you my support, and my friendship?”

Lindir bit his lip to prevent the tears from spilling at the sudden wave of emotions rolling over him. His face lit up.  
“Oh - oh - well, yes! Thank you so much! I would feel deeply honoured to be allowed to call you friend.”

Erestor laughed, gripping Lindir’s hand reassuringly. “It is I who is honoured,” he said with a smile so warm it lifted Lindir’s spirits even more. “But come, let us finish our meal, and then I will bring you to Elrond, and we will get you properly settled in.”

0=0=0=0=0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work in progress. I've started to write it for myself because I wanted to read the kind of hurt/comfort you find here, but with a more realistic approach in some regards than I also often found it in other stories. As I originally didn't plan to post it, I didn't write a continuous story beyond this point, just scenes and fragments of what happens later, as well as the backstory for Erestor. None of this is yet fit for publishing, and many parts linking these scenes need yet to be written. I'm not a fast writer, so I fear it'll take some time until the next update, but the story and the characters are very dear to me and won't be abandoned.  
  
**Update November 2020**: this year so far has been as shitty for me as it has for so many, which affected my writing muse really badly. I'm now back to writing and am working at the next chapter. It's not going fast, but it's happening! ^^


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